jakebe | Entries tagged with racism

There's a big disconnect in our society when we talk about bigotry. I think a lot of people in privileged groups believe that bigotry means something like "active discrimination and disrespect of a minority group" or maybe "active/vocal hate directed towards every single member of a minority group". There are a lot of people out there who believe that they aren't bigoted (or even behave in bigoted ways or have bigoted thoughts) because hey, they're not being Nazis or anything -- they really just have good times with people, without "seeing" the race, orientation, religion or gender identity that makes them different.

It's difficult to describe why that definition of bigotry is a misunderstanding, simply because our deepening ideas about what bigotry is don't neatly fit within the space of 140 characters. There isn't a good way to sum it up in a sound bite, or a metaphor that nails it perfectly. The fact of the matter is, an understanding of what I mean when I talk about bigotry requires an understanding of how I understand our society works, how bigotry is baked into the fabric of it in fundamental ways, and how we internalize and repeat those ideas.

OK, first, a definition of terms. Who is a bigot? The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines a bigot as "a person who is obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own prejudices and opinions; especially one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance." Intolerance is defined as "a quality of being unable or unwilling to grant equal freedom of expression or grant or share social, political or professional rights".

So, a bigot is someone who treats members of a group as socially, politically or professionally inequal. A bigot is unwilling to allow members of a group equal expression or rights. A bigot is someone who is so devoted to their own ideas about the way the world works that they are unwilling to entertain the notion that it may work differently, that reality isn't the way they think it is. They have the truth; that truth is immutable, and anyone who doesn't believe the way they do is wrong and most importantly, intolerable.

The reason that the label of bigotry is such a hot one is it comes across as a value judgement. The subtext being spoken when you call someone a bigot is that "they are fixed to a particular way of thinking so firmly that they are unable to rethink it; they're uncritical, inflexible, intolerant and unchanging." And that you are, by definition, not any of those things. It often feels like two things are happening here. One, that the person designated as "bigot" is someone who is incapable of changing their beliefs. Two, that because this person is bigoted, anything they have to say can be completely ignored and there's no reason to engage with them at all.

Being accused of being a bigot really hurts. It means that someone out there thinks you are a dinosaur, incapable of change; stupid; part of a generation that will die out to make way for a new, more enlightened generation. Too often, the accusation of bigotry is used as a wall that divides one person from another, and gives both parties a reason to never attempt a connection again.

I think there might be cause to "soften" that label. I think that bigotry is taught to all of us on a subtle and societal level, and that each and every one of us internalizes those bigoted ideas. That internalization causes us to act on bigoted assumptions -- and by definition those actions are bigoted. Most of the time, we don't even think about it. We simply act on what we've been taught is true and have no reason to question.

Part of dismantling bigotry within ourselves and on a societal level is understanding how these are ideas are part of the dominant institutions within our societies, how they are transmitted to the people within those societies, how we accept and absorb them as members of those societies, and how we can rethink these basic ideas, test them to see if something feels right or it doesn't. It's a lot of work, but it's essential to understand not only how we work but how deeply these assumptions can be held. Once we're able to recognize the capacity within ourselves to hold these thoughts, we can more easily recognize why other people believe and behave the way that they do, and why it can be so extraordinarily difficult for them to change.

There are so many assumptions about various groups that are hard-baked into our society -- especially minority groups who tend to be under-privileged and don't have access to the kind of massive reach that the powerful use on a daily basis. This of course includes mass media -- not just news, but entertainment, marketing, education and more. All of it, either implicitly or explicitly, promotes and reinforces biases that need to be re-examined.

I don't think this is a situation that's necessarily borne from maliciousness, though malicious behavior has served to stifle and discourage attempts to change the status quo. Let's take an example to see how institutional bias contributes to personal bigotry, at least from my perspective.

I'm a black man, and if you look through mass media throughout history our culture doesn't have many positive examples for me. When we were brought to the United States, we were viewed as barely human, little more than savages who could understand basic commands and endure back-breaking labor that more genteel and enlightened races could not stomach. This myth of superhuman strength and physicality has been woven into the narrative of black men from that time on: in so many of our stories, black men fill the role of the "gentle giant" or a subset of the "noble savage". In our entertainment, we're presented as street-savvy toughs who are intimidating and dangerous. We join gangs, deal drugs, kill people. We go to prison (justly or unjustly), we father children and either die, abandon them or are taken from them. Three centuries of narrative on black men can be traced from slave owners selling their goods in the late-1700s to what policemen and news anchors say about Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown and Freddie Gray.

We're often seen as people who are prone to violence, have poor impulse control and limited (at best) intelligence -- when we are seen as smart, it's more of a cunning than an actual ability to learn complex concepts and make connections between them. There are, of course, exceptions to this -- especially recently. But the monolithic image of the black male as someone with a dangerous and animal strength, as someone unpredictable and tough, prevails. It informs how we're reflected in news reports and movies, TV shows and books. That image is disseminated in a hundred different ways, subtle and unsubtle, and absorbed by those of us who see those news reports and fictional accounts everywhere.

We internalize this idea, and we begin to act on it instinctively. Police officers are quicker to assume that black males have weapons, and more likely to interpret actions as aggressive or hostile. They're more likely to use deadly force as a result. We, as civilians, instinctively grow more nervous when we see one or more black males on the street. We begin to make assumptions about how they live, what they want, and who they are. Even when it's tinged with a positive sentiment, there are underlying traits that reflect centuries of basic, bigoted ideas handed down to us from the stories we've told ourselves over time.

This doesn't only happen with black men. This happens with women, other people of color, the disabled, the mentally ill, transgender and gender-fluid people, gay, lesbians, bisexuals, the poor and disadvantaged, the homeless...and the list goes on.

With the rise of the Internet and the resulting democratization of content available in our culture, we're seeing those minorities push back against these stories. Black men are standing up to say we're not all hulking athletes, or dangerous toughs, or cunning tricksters. We're not the stories you've heard about that are causing you to cross the street, assume we're up to no good, shoot us down in our neighborhoods. We're just people, as widely varied and scared and messed up as anyone else. We don't fit into these societal narratives.

What we're finding as we speak up is that there are many, many people who don't want to examine the stories they've been told, the ideas they hold because of them, or the prevalence of this false and in many ways dangerous information. They don't want to look at how this narrative has lead them to bigoted thoughts and actions -- because of it, black men can't gather in places without being harassed; we can't interact with the police in the same ways a white man could; we're far less likely to be considered for white-collar jobs or opportunities in STEM education; we're much more likely to be suspended and disciplined in schools. The stories we tell ourselves as a culture about black men lead directly to the unequal treatment of us as a group, at all levels of society.

That's bigotry in action. It's codified in our culture, repeated over and over again throughout our history until it becomes a sort of background radiation, something we simply accept. Most of us have assumptions about various groups because that's what we've been exposed to from an incredibly young age. Centuries of history and decades of personal absorption are incredibly hard to dislodge.

But it can happen. It does happen. It first takes realizing what's going on in the first place and challenging our assumptions about basic ideas. What does it mean to be black? What does it mean to be poor? What does it mean to identify with a gender that's different from your physical sex? What does it mean to believe in a non-Christian view of the universe? Who are all of these people who don't share your race, religion, orientation, socio-economic status? How do these differences affect their daily lives?

I'm learning an awful lot about this simply by listening to the people speak up about their own experiences. The plight of transgender people and women is something I haven't been aware of until only recently, but my eyes have been opened in so many ways. It's shocking to hear the things they've been through, the battles they continue to fight because of the ingrained, reflexive bigotry that we reflect unthinkingly.

I'll admit, I've done, said and thought things that were bigoted. I will probably do so in the future; this is not because I'm a bad person, or that I'm intractable. It's simply because I haven't gotten to the place where I'm challenging basic, incorrect assumptions I'm still holding on to. But I'm working on that, I'm learning more all the time. That's the burden we bear, the thing we must do to improve ourselves and the society we live in.

I ask sincerely that people have patience with me through this process. More importantly, have patience with other people who are still learning how to undo the education they've received; we're all members of a flawed society we didn't opt-in to, and some of us are going to have a more difficult time learning about those flaws, accepting the ways we've internalized them, and undoing that. Some people will be able to do this on their own; some people will need significant help that they may or may not ask for; some of us will never be able to do it. But I believe we're all in the same boat with this, and it would be a great thing to help each other make progress however we're able to do so.

Does this make sense? Do you agree, disagree? I look forward to the discussion in the comments.

The husband and I saw The Blind Side over the weekend. We didn’t have much interest in seeing it, really, but there were three things that recommended it. Sandra Bullock won Best Actress last year for her role in that, it was based on the real-life story of Michael Oher, defensive tackle for the (best football team in the world!) Baltimore Ravens, and I was kind of hoping it would teach us a little about football through analogy and dramatic narrative, which everyone knows is the best way to learn something.

As you might have guessed, the movie turned out to be a disappointment. The plot was handled in the most pedestrian manner possible. The poor actors weren’t given much material to work with because of that. The father just got to look after his wife while she did something “amazing” and say “That’s my wife!” in an awed voice. The son got to be the Loveable Scamp. And the daughter got to do the whole ‘personal integrity is so much better than social acceptance’ arc with maybe two scenes and a dozen lines of dialogue.

There were only two actors who stood out. Sandra Bullock hammed it up as much as she possibly could in the role of Leigh Ann Touhy, and you have to admire the gleeful abandon with which she played a Southern spitfire. Still, she gives more a flashy performance than anything. Every time she’s on the screen, you’re well aware that she’s acting her *ass* off. As vibrant as it is, you can’t help but be taken out of the movie by the artificiality of it. So, as much as she tries, I can’t say that Bullock manages good acting here, so much as “hard” acting.

Quinton Aaron, though, is another matter entirely. There’s an earnestness and open pain on his face that looks entirely honest, and he gives the most subtle, effecting performance of the bunch. If he had better material I’d say this is an Oscar-worthy performance in itself, but every line he speaks seems to be engineered for optimal tear-jerker status. The impressive thing, though, is that he actually makes it work, and about a third of the way into the movie (when sad-sack Michael Oher says he’s never had a bed before) I felt a bit teary. It was really surprising, though, when Ryan started to openly mock the movie right around the same time.

We paused the movie and talked about it a bit. Ryan thought that it was racist, which caught me off guard. I thought I was watching a movie about good people doing a good thing for someone who hasn’t had that happen a lot for him. But where I was taking my cues about what we’re meant to see by watching the people, Ryan was taking his cues by watching the way the story unfolded -- particularly with the contrast between Oher’s neighborhood, and the community of his adopted family.

Sean Touhy, according to the movie, owns dozens of Taco Bell franchises, which allows him to live like a stereotypical rich Southerner -- gated mansion communities, fancy Christian private schools, country clubs, the works. Oher comes from the ‘wrong side’ of Memphis, though, with nothing but crumbling projects and weeds sprouting up through the sidewalks, trash and junkies lining the gutter, that sort of thing. Here’s where the writing gets laughable, by the way. It is very clear that the only contact with inner-city youth these people have had is through after-school specials and maybe seeing Boyz N The Hood by mistake late one night.

Ryan’s problem, I’m thinking, is that the broad strokes are so simplistic here that it portrays white people as happy, giving folks straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, and most black people are stuck in this spiral of poverty, drugs and violence. The only black people besides Oher we see never smile without a sneer. Their life, by and large, is misery and struggle, whereas white people live easy, unburdened by the troubles of the world. His problem is that this presents a scenario in which the situation is static, and the lots of black people can only change if they escape somehow into the welcoming, Christian arms of white affluence.

But here’s where it gets a little sticky. While Ryan here has a pretty good point, I’m reluctant to ding the movie on this. Why? Because it feels very much like the route I took to get where I am today.

My situation wasn’t so extreme; I had a bed, and a family, before I left them behind in the inner city to move out to southern Maryland, and then northwest Arkansas, and then northern California. But there are also a lot of similarities there, too, if only in mindset. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think there are two kinds of people for inner-city youth. Those who look around, decide they don’t want to be there, and spend a significant amount of time and effort getting out, and those who stay, dealing with the reality of the situation in their own way.

If you look at other movies that at least touch on inner-city life, you’ll find the same narrative over and over again. Young black guys and girls just want to get out of the ghetto. Sometimes it’s to make a good ‘normal’ life, and sometimes it’s to be rich and/or famous. But the idea of getting out of the ghetto is almost always a driving force for the characters who find themselves there.

I think this points to an uncomfortable cultural mindset. We’ve gotten away from thinking that poor inner-city neighborhoods can be saved, and for about a generation now we’ve come to think of them as trials to be endured until we can escape them. When was the last time a story about a community coming together to kick out drug dealers or better its environment made the cultural consciousness? Most everything I see focuses on one person with the potential to get out, and the dramatic tension revolves around whether their better angels or...worse demons win out.

The worst sin of The Blind Side, then, is trying to present this conflict with unintentional tactlessness. Everything and everyone in the movie is painted with primary colors, without shading, so the contrast between the Touhys’ lives and Oher’s is pretty stark. I don’t think they’ve given us anything that we haven’t seen before, though. And maybe that’s the part that’s not OK.

The question becomes, though, what do we do about that? When I was growing up, most people who had embraced the inner-city lifestyle had developed a healthy distrust of anything outside that culture. Most people who indulge in the drugs and violence that plague those streets aren’t doing it because there are no other alternatives available; they’re doing it because it reinforces so many beliefs -- neither black or white, but American -- about what it takes to live the dream. It’s not hard work that does it, or persistence -- it’s about projecting this image of power. In my mind, the drug dealers are just playing the same game that Wall Street powerbrokers do. The rules are different, and the consequences are more immediate and violent, but the fundamentals are one.

So what can you do? Unfortunately, I don’t think the answer is as simple as having all the ‘good’ guys in the community band together and kick out those mean old drug dealers. Those dealers are my brothers and sisters, someone’s father or uncle. Black communities can’t remove an element that’s so connected to them. For better or worse, the problem is who we are in so many ways. And because of that I think it requires a fundamental shift in perspective. Getting rich and powerful has to be taken away as a priority; these guys need to develop a sense of responsibility and connection for the pain and suffering they cause. And I, for one, have no idea how to do that.

None of this is easy for me to say. I don’t like thinking that I’ve given up on the neighborhood in Baltimore where I grew up, that I think it’s some unsolvable problem. But I have. The problem is honestly beyond me, and rather than devote so much time swimming against the stream trying to solve it, I’d rather just leave it alone and focus on getting whatever happiness I can.

Michael Oher did the same thing, and became a left tackle for the Baltimore Ravens. I have no idea where he lives now, but I’m thinking that it’s nowhere near my family’s house.